


Ineffable Love

by possiblypasta



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Cute, Demon, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining, Romance, angel - Freeform, good omens - Freeform, happy pride yall, romantic, takes place after last episode
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19074721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possiblypasta/pseuds/possiblypasta
Summary: Aziraphale has spent 6 thousand years being completely in love with his so called enemy, but is only just now beginning to admit it to himself.





	Ineffable Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there to old and new Good Omens fans!! If you're reading this, I really hope you like it, and don't worry, this is gonna be a multi chapter fic.  
> And just to clarify, for those of you who, like myself, cannot handle sadness when it comes to our favorite man-shaped beings, I promise the angst will be light in later chapters and the fluff will duly make up for it. Happy endings all around, and that's a promise!!  
> Please let me know if you enjoyed the story!!!

Aziraphale was shifting his weight from leg to leg. It was strange, being in Crowley's apartment again. the only time he had seen inside was the other night. That was still fresh in his mind. The sadness of thinking he has lost his shop had distracted him from properly looking around. The low lights and cold stone walls were so different in comparison to his cozy bookshop, but it was so  _ Crowley _ , that he couldn't help but like it. But the one thing he did not enjoy was the feeling he got from the houseplants. They made him terribly uncomfortable and sad, so once Crowley had gone to grab them something to sip on, he decided to say some kind things to the poor foliage. Most of them seemed to calm down significantly, but one poor elephant ear plant just couldn't seem to shake the anxiety. 

_ I really must talk to him about these poor fellows… _

"Now, I have a bottle of some early champagne, but really the French had some good stuff back in the 17th century" 

With two bottles in hand, Crowley sauntered back into the room. A smile lingered on his face, not fully there, but just enough that Aziraphale felt his heart flutter for a moment.

"which one'll ya like?" 

"oh, either one will do, Crowley, thank you"

It had been a week since the scheduled end of the world, and Aziraphale had spent three days locked in his bookshop, pondering. The way Crowley had said it was  _ our side now… _ Aziraphale wasn't sure why, but the softness of his voice had made him feel something so odd. Almost like the London blitz. Their fingers had brushed ever so slightly when the demon had handed him his books, and it felt as if he had missed a step on a flight of stairs. And at their after the End Times lunch, for some reason, when in the middle of one of his spirited babblings about some book or another, Crowley had inched his hand over to where Aziraphale's rested on the table. He never stopped intently looking at him as he spoke, so the angel had chalked it up to have simply been nothing more than an accident. But that didn't explain why their pinkies never stopped delicately touching for the rest of their meal. 

So during those three days, with mugs of coco becoming cold, he spent hours upon hours pouring over his books. So many human accounts of little moments in time where the simplest of things, done by the right person, made them feel as if their heart was about to pound out of their chest. So many clandestine letters sent, expressing sentiments that the angel blushed at the thought of. 

On the third day, after desperately thumbing through over a hundred books with thousands of stories about that feeling that had settled into his chest decades ago, Aziraphale couldn't pretend he didn't know. He knew exactly what it was. Humans have a way of saying that they simply _ feel it in their bones _ , and he felt it down to the marrow. But he just had to be sure.

"Alright there?" 

Aziraphale jumped and shook his head, "oh, yes, I must've been lost in thought - oh, thank you"

"Cheers!"

"And what shall we be drinking to then, Crowley?"

The demon paused for a moment, the light catching on his sunglasses, obscuring his eyes. 

"...To us"

"To us?"

Aziraphale looked up. Crowley had taken off the glasses, and despite having eyes that for centuries, have been painted on the faces of monsters and glowed in the imaginations of little children as they tried to sleep, he held the angels gaze with the most gentle of looks.

"Yes, angel. To us" 

A flustered smile spread across Aziraphale's face as their glasses clinked, ringing like the first note of a morning songbird. 


End file.
